


Dragon & Damsel

by AZalmega



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Growing Up, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Character Death, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZalmega/pseuds/AZalmega
Summary: Worm One-shot. Amy looks back at her past and the person she is now.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Dragon & Damsel

Dead. It was a feeling she was used to all her life. A stroll from one minute to another. 

9:58 AM  
.  
9:59 AM  
.  
Before her digital clock turns 10:00 and dutifully disturb her slumber, Amy pushed the switch to silence it. 

It was another day. Yet, it wasn't like any other day, mostly. She doesn't usually lie awake at night, bawling her eyes out with her head pressed to her pillow. It was supposed to be another day, another shower, another breakfast, another shift, another simulation of a good daughter, and a caring sister. Yet, she cried and cried. Nobody came.

She was emotional. Heroes don't get emotional. They put on a brave face, exuding confidence like marionettes putting on another show for the children at Lord's Market festival, face forever frozen in perfection. She saw such a show when she was young, with a nanny she didn't recognize, thick brown hair draping over her shoulders as she spoils Amy with treats and affections. In this show, a marionette knight fought a fire-breathing dragon guarding the gate of a castle. On top of the castle, head leaning outside the window is a very distressed damsel, imprisoned by the big meanie dragon. The battle grew heated as the dragon burned everything in sight. Eventually, the knight outmaneuvered the dragon pushed it into the moat of the castle, drowning it. Unfortunately, the fire spread past the moat and lit the castle on fire. Taking a leap of faith, the damsel leaped from her castle in the arm of the knight. Then, he gave the damsel a rose and they rode toward the sunset, with the damsel wrapping her arms tightly around the knight. She rarely recollects something so distant, but she was reminded of a more fulfilling time in her early adolescence. 

Then, she came to the show the next year. There he was, the knight, the dragon, but not the princess. Not his princess. It was someone else. The puppeteer said he gave the marionette damsel a new makeover. Liar! He was keeping the damsel away from the knight! After the show, she snuck into the puppeteer's trailer to rescue the damsel as the puppeteer began cleaning up. Searching through an assortment of boxes in the cluttered trailer, she noticed a dusty box with the label 'Decommissioned' written on it. It was the only box with the letter D, and her nanny taught her all her ABCs, and D. Her damsel started with the letter D, and this word has a D so this must be the damsel! Amy opened it and stared hard into the content before she gently lifted the damsel out. She was too late. The damsel was dead. With a cracked her face and a missing leg, the knight was unable to save his damsel as she leaped from her tower.

Then, rain droplets poured down on the cracked face of the marionette. Amy felt tears running down her cheeks and wiped them away. She was a big girl and big girls don't cry. It was that stupid knight. So why did she feel sad for the marionette?

"Hey! Who's inside!?"

The voice startled her from her mission. It was a deep growl mixed evilly badness, the kind her nanny warned her about. It was the dragon. She quickly put the marionette back into the box and make her exit from the back door on the other side of the trailer, hand clutching tightly on her damsel. There was a rose garden near her house. Once she made it back, she will bury her there among the roses she loved.

As she made it out the backdoor, she tripped and dropped the box, the broken marionette spilling before hitting the road, head shattering upon impact. Amy turned around, eyes frozen. Then a second passed. Then two. Amy stared hauntingly at the marionette. It felt like her heart and breath dropped along with her damsel.

"What's that noise!? Hey, who's in there!?"

The voice grew closer and angrier. Once she heard the front door of the trailer slammed open, footsteps marching heavily inside, she dashed away, past the crowd, and hid behind an abandoned corner. She didn't remember how long she stayed there, but she remembered her nanny scolding her afterward. She was supposed to listen, to be a good girl, but good girls don't abandon damsels for dragons.

As she grew older, she began to forget things. But not the knight, the damsel, nor the dragon. She realized the puppeteer put away the damsel because it, she, was broken. When a marionette shows a crack, a new story with a new marionette replaced it. There are days when she wondered if he carried on the show with the broken damsel. Perhaps another girl like her would watch it for the first. Would she have cared to rescue a broken damsel?

Carol Dallon didn't care for anything with imperfection. Vicky was anything but imperfect. Head to heel, face filled with confidence and pride, she was flawless without trying. Everything she is, Amy Dallon isn't. She is always one show away from being put away. 

She came downstairs to see Mark still lying on the sofa, without a care in the world. He was sick. Not the kind of sickness she fixed, or can fix, not willingly, but he was lying around all the same. Just like them. It pissed her off. If she was sick, Carol would throw her a glance and resume work on another one of her cases, dismissing her existence like Mark, lying on her sofa. The first time she noticed, it hurts. Now, she was lying if she said it doesn't, or she was used to it. At least Vicky cares. She always makes sure Amy has the right temperature, feeds her canned chicken soup (she made it taste like heaven), and tugs her away at night with a good night kiss. On her cheek. And if she really pushed it, a kiss becomes kisses. Some nights, she continued the story in her dreams. Maybe, longingly, if the kiss was a few meters off . . . 

Vicky was out with Dean again last night, past curfew, again. Carol, face fuming with frustration, took her anger out on Amy, again. She listened, nodded, and got grounded to her room, again. Nobody came to rescue her. Nobody cared.

It wasn't always like this. Or maybe, it shouldn't always be like this. She remembered Jess and her gentleness. She got Amy the most lavish gifts on her birthday, always making sure that Amy feels appreciated and welcomed. On the nights of the 4th of July, Jess would use her power to entertain her team and family, illuminating the sky with light orbs shaped into animals. She made carps, snakes (though she always laughed at the poop-shaped outcome), and other animals requested to her. Eventually, they made a rule, only requesting animals that showed up on the Discovery Channel of that night after a fight between Crystal and Eric. One night, Jess got creative after witnessing a 4th of July festival downtown, hosted by a generous business mogul, Kenta. She picked one of the creatures to show her team and family. It was her most ambitious display, putting awe and giddiness on their faces. Except, Amy had a different expression to the creature. She paused, horrified at the monster that haunts her. At night, when everyone slept, Amy stayed awake with a flashlight under her cover. If she closed her eyes, she would see it again. She tried to keep herself awake, too afraid and ashamed to run to Vicky. She was a big girl. Eventually, her exhaustion won. In her dream, it came for her, baring sharp teeth and a massive cape on its back, claws reaching out to her. It was the dragon. 

She read the letter. The weight of her crying fit the night before was lightened when she didn't see Carol this morning. It was supposed to be better. Now, with the letter in hand, she couldn't distinguish between sadness and . . . not sadness. It was alien not to feel something so customary in her life. She should be getting ready to heal the cancer victims, the diabetics, the injured, and comatose victims. The ungrateful brats, the rapists, and gangbangers who gunned down Jess, grasping tightly on Amy's 9th birthday present in her arm as her life fades. Carol canceled her party afterward and ground her. She never got her present. Paradoxically, she wished Carol was here, wishing Carol would lie to her about her birthright, even wishing she could still have the right to call her mother. Carol was stuck at her office for the rest of the day, revealing a case about a girl trapped in her locker. Amy's wishes didn't come true.

Her shift starts in 40 minutes. 40 turns to 20, then 10. She didn't move. She just shrank deeper into herself, remembering every word in that letter. She had a daddy who wasn't braindead, but alive and rotting in a cage. She curled up on the floor, Mark still snoring on the couch. She sobs quietly into the floor, face down, hands clutching her ears to silent the flow of time. 

She loved Vicky. She still does, honest! Vicky's aura just helps Amy realized the truth, so she helps nudged Vicky's mind toward their truth. Vicky ran, not before disowning Amy. She blamed Amy, not Panacea, Amy for letting Mark suffers. She didn't return her love.

She roamed the boat's graveyard, past the USS Glory for the sixth time, searching for answers. Instead, she got memories. She remembered the story Mike told her, about a warship that sacrificed itself, taking four torpedoes to protect Churchill's ship. He would serenade her and Vicky (her cousins prefer fairy tales, not history) with tales of these ancient relics and their accomplishments. He kept on talking and talking until he ran out of topics, often putting us to sleep and tucking us in himself. Whenever Mike is off duty in the weekend, he would take me and Vicky fishing on his boat. I was too scared of the live 'baits' on my hook to participate. Soon, it was a pastime for Vicky to corner me on the side of the boat with said 'bait', forcing me to choose between something wet or something wet, gross, and wiggling. I chose something wet every time, escaping into the sea. After Jess's funeral, Mike stopped talking, stopped eating, and drifted away from us. It was no surprise when he and his boat didn't return one day. At least he got me a gift for my birthday. It was a fishing rod.

After Vicky triggered, she named herself after the USS Glory, giving a speech about protecting the innocent and fighting crime. Some days, it felt like I was the USS Glory, covering up Vicky's destruction and New Wave's reputation. Then, it felt like an obligation, then a job, just like any day spent healing people in the hospitals. Soon, Amy takes a back seat to Panacea. She was drowning. Someday, she might wash ashore, becoming part of the Boat's Graveyard. She yearned for help, for freedom. The boats didn't answer. 

It is hard to recall a time when healing people was not a job. She remembered her first time meeting Vicky, before her power, before Glory Girl. She was older than Vicky by a few months. She was her big sister. When Vicky scraped her knees from basketball practice, Amy tried to soothe Vicky's pain and clean her wound, then apply an Alexandria band-aid as the finishing touch. The smile Vicky gave her sent her to heaven. She could die of joy whenever she received one. She should have died. Some days, when she has time after school, she would collect roses from a large abandoned estate formerly owned by the Marquis. It didn't matter how the thorns dug deep into her bare hands, prickling her as she made her way home. Vicky loved it. Carol didn't. She interrogated Amy until she spilled. Then, Carol grounded her for a month. The look Carol gave Amy hurts her more than all the roses she could hold.

When Chorus attacked the mall Vicky dragged her to, she felt as powerless as her younger self before the mighty dragon. Vicky was injured and the monsters were between her and her sister. She needed to kill them, to make them suffer, to erase the guilt of her past failure. She will save her damsel today, consequence be damned!

The PRT arrived 14 minutes after, chasing down Chorus until they left Brockton Bay. Vicky was fine after she received Amy's healing. Right, she can heal people. Not kill, not maim, not burn, but heal. Vicky needed her, screamed in terror as her aura failed her for the first time. Vicky kept talking and comforting her, telling her it wasn't her fault. But Amy didn't feel better. Something inside of her was broken. Then, came a horrid realization. She wasn't the knight. She wasn't a good daughter. She wasn't even a good sister. Hopefully, she could still be a good healer.

In her story, there are no knights to save her, to save Amy. Nobody cared for Amy, not anymore. But not Panacea. To them, she was the hand of fate, granting life with a touch of her finger. People respected her, feared her. Carol didn't care for Amy, but she was afraid of Panacea. Vicky cared for Amy, but she loved Dean.

No, she wasn't the knight or the damsel. They aren't her role. They just aren't. It's not the role she got. Carol was the lying puppeteer with a skeleton in her closet. Vicky was the knight, slaying dragons and saving her damsel, shielding her from any who wishes or dares to harm her. There is only one role left, unfulfilled, in this story. She was the dragon. 

Amy is hated and Panacea is feared. Now, she understands they are both parts of her role. Letting out a hoarse scream into the night sky, she let go of her doubts. Unbound, she is finally free. To be herself.

Be the dragon.

The Red Queen was born.


End file.
